


Missing the Mark

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [201]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Pendragon Fails at Flirting, Banter, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Fluff and Crack, Humour, M/M, Major Character Injury, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: When Arthur realises that his 'insults' to Merlin lack a certain something, he resolves to stop comparing his manservant to cute, fluffy things and come up with a way to properly express his exasperation. This turns out to be much more difficult than it sounds.Or: five times Arthur failed to insult Merlin, and one time he wasn't even trying. Inspired bythistumblr post.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin Fic [201]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/70688
Comments: 102
Kudos: 1648





	Missing the Mark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jayfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayfire/gifts), [blueskysunnyday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskysunnyday/gifts).



> For Jayfire and blueskysunnyday, because I would like everyone to know who should be held responsible for this :P 
> 
> Now with adorable [fanart](https://nodudeshutup.tumblr.com/post/619413521236688896/merlin-and-henry-the-stoat-sketches-from) by @nodudeshutup!
> 
> Please do not repost elsewhere or list my fic on Goodreads (or any other similar spaces).

#1: A STARTLED STOAT

It started to become an issue around the time that a stoat got trapped in one of the castle storerooms.

How it managed to get in there in the first place, Arthur had no idea. To his certain knowledge, the castellan retained several rat-catchers to keep the castle free of vermin, and they were supposed to be employed specifically to _prevent_ situations like this, but once it had found its way in, the stoat proved remarkably difficult to get rid of.

“I’ll do it,” Merlin volunteered, when Arthur expressed his frustration on the subject late one evening. “It can’t be more difficult than catching a rat.”

“Maybe not, but I seem to recall you failing at that rather spectacularly,” Arthur said, stripping off his shirt. “A stoat may be bigger, but it’s also cleverer. I think you’ll find you’ve met your match.”

“I still got the rat in the end, though,” Merlin pointed out, undeterred. “Besides, you once compared me to a stoat. Perhaps that means I have an affinity for them.”

Arthur snorted, but he could tell that this was one of those occasions on which Merlin was going to be stubborn, so he said nothing, expecting that his manservant would soon lose interest in the endeavour once he’d spent an hour or two chasing the blasted creature around the castle.

What he was not expecting, but subsequently woke up to, was the sight of Merlin sitting in one of his armchairs, the stoat in question curled up on his lap, and having what sounded like a one-sided conversation with it while the animal stared up at him in open adoration.

“…and then he said, _no, Merlin, I must complete my quest alone,_ ” Merlin was saying, dropping his voice half an octave to mimic what Arthur could only suppose was meant to be his own intonation. “Which I think was very prat-like of him, don’t you?”

“Are you talking to the stoat?” Arthur asked, only mildly bemused. This was Merlin, after all, and he’d seen his manservant do stranger things. “You are aware, aren’t you, that it can’t understand you?”

Merlin glanced up at him, startled, and the stoat followed his gaze, reminding Arthur forcibly of the reason he had once compared the two in the first place. With his wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, Merlin was insufferably adorable, and just looking at him made Arthur want to do stupid things such as pet his hair and feed him sweetmeats.

“His name is Henry,” Merlin informed him finally, putting a protective hand on the animal’s back. It was a particularly fine-looking specimen, Arthur couldn’t help but notice, with sleek, glossy fur and soft brown eyes, and it was watching him as if it understood everything he’d just been thinking about and disapproved. “And I think he likes me.”

“He’s about as addlepated as you are, then,” Arthur said, covering his confusion with impatience. He sat up in bed and pushed back the covers, wondering why Merlin couldn’t wait until a decent hour to ambush him with his nonsense. At the very least, he could have held off until after breakfast. “Why exactly is ‘Henry’ in my chambers, anyway? It’s a wild animal; it belongs outside or in the forest, not in here spreading filth and disease.”

“Henry isn’t dirty, are you, Henry?” Merlin tickled the stoat beneath its furry white chin. “And anyway, I brought him here because I thought it might be nice to introduce you. They’re not usually very friendly,” he added, almost apologetically. “So it’s understandable that you might not have encountered one in the wild.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve seen a stoat before, Merlin.”

“Have you?” Merlin wasn’t looking at him, but there was something teasing about the shape of his mouth, like a smile just waiting to appear. “Huh. It’s just, I think Henry here is pretty cute, all things considered, so I’m not sure why you’d try to insult me by calling me a stoat unless you didn’t know what they actually looked like.”

Arthur felt his cheeks flush, wrong-footed, but then he rallied.

“Stoats are _pests_ , Merlin,” he said, with pointed emphasis. “And so are you. There’s nothing complimentary about being compared to a stoat.”

“If you say so,” Merlin said, not sounding particularly convinced. He stroked the animal’s head gently with one finger, and Arthur decided that a strategic retreat was in order, at least until Merlin started behaving sensibly.

“Go and put it back in the woods where it belongs,” he said, pushing to his feet and heading for the changing screen. “And pick up my breakfast from the kitchens while you’re at it. I suppose I’ll have to dress myself this morning.”

“Are you sure you can manage it, sire?” Merlin asked cheekily. “You have something of the startled stoat about you yourself this morning.”

“I’m sure,” Arthur growled, and Merlin had already left, still grinning gormlessly, before it occurred to him to wonder if Merlin had just called him…cute.

+

#2: A DAFFODIL

The daffodil comment was a mistake—Arthur knew it as soon as the word came out of his mouth. He had been distracted at the time, in part by Merlin’s terrible fighting skills, and in part because Merlin was crouched on the ground in front of him, shield held up to screen his body, and the sight of him set all of Arthur’s protective instincts flaring. It was pathetic, really, but when Arthur groped for an insult his mind went blank, and all that came out was,

“You’re pretending to be a battle-hardened warrior, _Mer_ lin, not a— _daffodil_.”

Merlin looked at him oddly, but Arthur went for the hammer after that, distracting him, and it wasn’t until much later that he had the breath to say casually,

“Daffodils are my mother’s favourite flowers.”

It occurred to Arthur then that he might have developed something of a problem.

+

#3: A HELPLESS BABY DEER

He was careful about what he said over the next few days, and spent rather longer than he was comfortable with admitting going over some appropriately disparaging comments in his head, so as to have something prepared the next time Merlin did something irrevocably stupid. Even Merlin couldn’t find anything endearing about being likened to a head louse, could he?

For a while, it almost seemed to work. Merlin stopped needling him about his choice of insults, and started looking reassuringly exasperated whenever Arthur teased him, although he never quite seemed to be outright offended by anything Arthur said. Insults, it seemed, rolled off him like water off a duck’s back—and whoops, there he went again, comparing Merlin to something fluffy and not altogether repulsive. That had to stop.

The only flaw in Arthur’s plan came about when he and Merlin were ambushed by bandits, and Arthur discovered that what it actually took to get under Merlin’s skin was a well-aimed crossbow bolt to the shoulder.

“Hold still,” Arthur grunted, catching Merlin by his good arm and shoving him back to the ground as he tried to get up. “Let me see.”

It was not, he discovered thankfully, a mortal wound; the bolt had bypassed anything vital and lodged itself in Merlin’s collarbone, which was more than likely broken, but although there wasn’t a great deal of blood, Arthur knew from personal experience that it had to hurt. A lot.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, crouching down next to Merlin and pulling out his knife. “I’m going to trim the shaft so that it won’t catch on anything, then let Gaius take it out when we get back to the castle. Okay?”

Merlin nodded, his lips pressed tightly together, and though there were drops of sweat standing out on his face he didn’t flinch away. “At least I look more like a battle-hardened warrior now,” he joked weakly.

Arthur shook his head, an irrepressible fondness warring with the fear still roiling in his gut. “What you _are_ is a menace,” he said. Very carefully, he selected a spot a few inches from where the bolt had entered Merlin’s flesh and began to saw, holding the rest of the arrow steady with his free hand. “You didn’t think maybe it would be a good idea to _run_ , instead of just standing there like a helpless baby deer?”

In spite of everything, the corner of Merlin’s mouth twitched. “A baby deer?” he repeated, and Arthur winced internally. Apparently, not even his best intentions could stand up to Merlin when he was injured. “Arthur, I’m not sure you fully understand the concept of an insult.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur muttered, and focused on cutting through the remainder of the shaft so that they could make the journey home.

+

#4: A WILTED DANDELION

Gaius removed what was left of the arrow without much trouble, and put Merlin on enforced bed rest until his shoulder healed, which at least gave Arthur some time to recover his dignity and shore up his resolve. He tried half-heartedly to think of a few additional insults that he could use in the future, since it wouldn’t do to have Merlin think he was getting soft when he returned, but found himself frequently distracted by the fact of Merlin’s absence, and the way everything in his room seemed none-too-subtly _off_ without those particular touches that meant his manservant had stopped by.

George did his best, of course; had it not been for his appallingly boring personality, Arthur might have enjoyed having his rooms clean and his food warmed the way it should be, but after a week or so had elapsed it started to become irritating, and after two weeks he was practically climbing the walls, infuriated by the other man’s uncrackable poker face and relentless jokes about brass.

All things considered, it was a relief when Merlin showed up one morning, puttering around Arthur’s bedroom and humming softly to himself as though he’d never been away, but he looked so wan and tired that Arthur couldn’t help worrying about him anyway.

“Are you sure Gaius didn’t send you back to work too soon?” he asked, eyeing Merlin critically as he gathered up his things. “You look like a wilted dandelion.”

“Dandelions are tough, hardy little plants,” Merlin said cheerfully, shrugging his good shoulder with unconcern. “Hard to eradicate, good for the digestion.” He glanced up at Arthur slyly through his lashes. "And quite pretty to look at, too, don’t you think, sire?”

It was all Arthur could do not to throttle him.

+

#5: A FLUFFY BUNNY RABBIT

The final straw came when he and Merlin were out hunting a few weeks later. Merlin’s shoulder was all but healed, though Arthur had noticed that he still tended to favour it sometimes when he thought no one was looking. As a consequence, he decided to take a few of the more onerous camping duties upon himself, including laying out the fire and gutting the two hares they’d caught some hours before.

Merlin watched him work with a thoughtful expression, and after a few minutes of studying Arthur as he removed the skins and unwanted viscera and spitted the rabbits to cook, he said slowly,

“Arthur—a coney is essentially a rabbit, right?”

“Yes,” Arthur said distractedly, spearing the second one on a spit and setting it over the fire. “It’s another word for the same animal.”

“So when you told me I was about as smart as one of those coneys, what you were really saying was—”

“—that you have no brain,” Arthur said hurriedly. “That’s what I was getting at. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Merlin’s voice was serious, but there was definite mischief in his face now, and Arthur narrowed his eyes, “Only, do you think—is there a remote possibility that you might actually _like_ me?”

“No,” Arthur said at once, with a speed that gave the lie to every word coming out of his mouth. “Absolutely not.”

“Right.” But Merlin was openly grinning now. “I was just asking.”

+

#6: AN IDIOT (BUT HE’S ARTHUR’S IDIOT)

Arthur tossed and turned by the fire that night, unable to sleep thanks to the conversation rattling around inside his head. Did he _like_ Merlin? On the one hand, it was a preposterous question. Why would he go out of his way to insult somebody if he _liked_ them? That would be ridiculous, not to mention completely counterproductive.

On the other hand, however, he had to admit that ‘insulting Merlin’ wasn’t exactly what he’d been doing these past few months. The worst thing he’d ever said about Merlin was that he was an idiot, and if Merlin was an idiot and an idiot was Merlin, then what was an idiot but loyal, and smart, and brave, and quite disarmingly handsome when he smiled? It wasn’t something Arthur had ever admitted to himself, but when he thought about it that way, the only possible answer to Merlin’s question was _of course_ and also _obviously_. Arthur let out an aggravated noise and rolled over to his other side, only to be confronted by Merlin himself lying next to him, still awake, his open eyes washed gold in the light from the fire.

“Arthur,” he whispered, when Arthur met his gaze. “Can I tell you something?”

For a wild moment, Arthur considered saying no. He had a horrible feeling that he knew what Merlin was about to say, and he was still trying to cope with the fact that he might actually—that there was every possibility he was in _love_ with the sod, damn it all; he didn’t think he could handle it if Merlin said he liked him, too.

But Merlin was still watching him, and there was something about the expression on his face that made him seem more than usually vulnerable, and Arthur couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Of course,” he whispered back, steeling himself for the inevitable. “What is it?”

In answer, Merlin stretched out a hand towards him. At first, it seemed like he was asking Arthur to take it, which was odd, though not altogether unwelcome. Then Arthur heard him speak, and what felt like a rush of gentle wind swept through the clearing, stirring the flames from the fire into a miniature tornado. The tornado contorted, then after a moment formed itself into a shape: the perfect replica of a living rabbit, made entirely from the flames. The tiny creature drifted slowly towards the grass, leaving a trail of smouldering embers in its wake as it hopped in his direction, scenting the air with a perfect, trembling nose. 

Arthur lay very still, holding his breath. He was distantly aware of his heart beating clumsily against his ribs, and the warmth of the burning apparition as it sniffed twitchily at his left sleeve. He didn’t want to startle it, not knowing if it would behave like an actual rabbit or not, but he also wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with what he was seeing—and more importantly, what it meant.

He had known there was something different about Merlin from the beginning. He’d seen it in him the first time they’d met, when Merlin stood up to him in the marketplace where no one else would, and he saw it every day in the way Merlin was—well, _Merlin_ , kind and clumsy and foolish and just a little bit magic, so in a way it almost didn’t come as a surprise. What _was_ a surprise was how unfazed Arthur was about it, because for all he knew that sorcerers were meant to be dangerous and frightening and predatory, there was no way that he could think of Merlin like that at all.

The rabbit did a slow circuit of the fire, loping around the two of them once—twice—before Merlin flicked his fingers and it disappeared. Ashes sparkled in the grass where it had been, and Arthur was left staring into Merlin’s face in the empty clearing, acutely aware that Merlin’s parted lips were trembling, and that there was something about his shining eyes which hinted at the possibility of tears.

“I’d tell you that you’re an idiot,” Arthur said gruffly, catching hold of Merlin’s shirt and tugging him closer. “But knowing you, you’d think it was a compliment.”

“Really, sire,” Merlin said, a little breathless, rolling into Arthur’s arms and laughing as he tilted his face up to be kissed. “I can’t imagine why.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think we could all use a bit of silliness right now, so I hope you enjoyed my contribution :) If you're still in need of something warm and fuzzy, pls check out [this adorable video](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/612560805686280192/okay-so-i-may-have-written-a-thing) and imagine it with Merlin instead, while Arthur watches nearby like "pls Merlin I am begging you I need you to stop with the cute before I spontaneously combust." 
> 
> Take care of yourselves out there, guys. Kia kaha ❤️


End file.
